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Cautiously, Kaylie approached the laundry room near the garage. The wet warmth on her socks was the first indication of the small flood on the hardwood floor. Her breath caught, and she followed the water until she found the source. Water pulsed out from under the machine.
Panicking, she grabbed her phone and called Anthony, her fingers fumbling nervously on the screen. After a rough morning where another client had accused her of stealing jewelry, this was just what she needed. Kaylie had practically been in tears defending her innocence. Then, the client even refused to admit she was wrong when Kaylie had pointed out that it had simply fallen behind the dresser.
"Mr. Olson?" Kaylie's voice was deceptively calm, though a hint of worry crept into her tone. "There's an…” she hesitated, searching for the right word, “...issue with the washing machine.”
“Say more,” he commanded.
Kaylie chewed her lip. “Umm, it's leaking water all over the floor."
A brief pause followed, the silence amplifying the sounds of water running across the floor. Kaylie anxiously gnawed her thumbnail, waiting for his response. Would he think it was her fault?
"I'll be home in fifteen minutes,” he replied quickly. The confidence in his deep, resonant voice was enough to have relief washing over Kaylie. She started to say thank you, but he had already hung up.
She rushed back to the laundry room, frantically grabbing towels to contain the spreading puddle, then made sure her daughter was still watching cartoons in the other room. She turned off the machine, but water seemed to keep coming, soaking towel after towel as she tried to make sure the gorgeous floors weren’t damaged.
Almost exactly fifteen minutes later, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. Kaylie stood, her heart quickening as Mr. Olson entered the room. His expression was unreadable, and she inhaled sharply, preparing herself to be scolded. Her boss wore charcoal pants and a button-down shirt, and his dark hair was perfectly styled.
She glanced down at herself. The legs of her yoga pants had dragged through the water, wicking it upward. She was sweaty from running back and forth to the sink with sopping towels.
"Ms. Richards," he greeted her with a nod, his gaze momentarily lingering on her face before shifting to the wet floor. No doubt her hair was frizzing everywhere and she wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup. She held her breath and pushed away the vain thread of embarrassment and focused on the issue at hand.
"Let's see what we've got here,” he said.
Despite the urgency of the situation, Kaylie couldn't help but notice the subtle smile across his lips as he surveyed the scene. So…not angry. That was a good sign. She was starting to think the unflappable Mr. Olson was never as cross as he seemed to appear.
Anthony crouched down to inspect the washing machine. Eventually, he retrieved a toolbox from the garage and pulled the back panel off. Kaylie handed him tools and tried to offer helpful suggestions based on what she could find by searching online. Despite the mess made by the malfunctioning appliance, Kaylie found herself enjoying the effortless way they worked together.
His eyes were on the connection between the pipe and the washing machine when he spoke. “There’s some plumber’s putty in the junk drawer by the fridge. White tub with a red and black label.”
Her cheek tugged upward at the clumsy request. She was discovering that Anthony Olson wasn’t one for using eight words when two would do.
Kayle skirted around him, squeezing between his back and the doorway. She found the putty right where he said it would be. Her fingers brushed his when she handed it to him. She couldn't deny the fluttering in her chest when Anthony’s eyes met hers, and she wondered if he, too, felt the unspoken connection. She pulled her hand away, absently reaching for a towel to swipe at the drips that had gathered under the connection.
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re pretty handy,” she commented, trying to ease the tension. “I can tell you’re not a plumber though.”
He frowned at her, a confused look on his face. She flushed, glancing down at the damp spots on his dress slacks. “Not exactly blue-collar work attire,” she muttered.
Anthony cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah. No, I’m not a plumber. But I can figure most things out. Comes with the territory.”
“What territory?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Anthony shaped a piece of the putty with his hands as he answered. “Dad was… preoccupied while I was growing up. I had to help my mom around the house.” A shadow seemed to cross his face. He tightened the fitting and then glanced back up at her. “Then, I was on my own, joined the military. And you learn pretty fast that fixing your own problems is a lot simpler than trying to get someone else involved.”
Kaylie turned the new information over in her mind. Military. That made a lot of sense. But he obviously wasn’t in the service now. So where had he landed? And would they be upset that he’d had to come home in the middle of the day to take care of this?
“Mr. Anthony, can you play?” Lia interrupted their project to ask.
“Not now, munchkin. Maybe when we’re done here?”
And there he went charming her daughter again. It really wasn’t fair.
As they successfully repaired the washing machine and cleaned up the mess, Kaylie couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter had shifted something in their dynamic. She hesitated before breaking the silence, her words carefully chosen to maintain the delicate balance.
"Thanks for coming, Mr. Olson. I appreciate your help," she said, awkwardly shifting on her feet. She needed to view him as her boss. Mr. Olson was safe. Kind and understanding, if a little bossy and slightly demanding. But safe in the requisite distance of the boundaries of the relationship. Anthony, on the other hand? Anthony was sweet and magnetic, and made her stomach flutter in a way she’d never experienced.
"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Anthony?”
Kaylie shrugged. “I shouldn’t,” she said, chewing her lip.
